


words come to life from your lips to mine

by kickassfu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV Merlin (Merlin), Profanity, Writer Merlin (Merlin), idiots flirting, merlin is horny for arthur, merlin's unable to write, they kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickassfu/pseuds/kickassfu
Summary: “Why? Are you offering to buy me some?” Merlin jokes, letting his mouth run free like the idiot he is (why bother with pesky things, like a brain filter) “You know what they say, a man only buys you clothes so he can take them off you.”Merlin hears a thud behind him as he climbs the stairs and looks over his shoulder, to see Arthur straightening up, as if he stumbled or something, “You ok mate?”
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 315





	words come to life from your lips to mine

**Author's Note:**

> i asked for merthur prompts and my wonderful friend sent me this: I’m a moody, somber writer who hasn’t written anything in months in my dingy flat and your my new neighbour that I can’t help but notice
> 
> I tried lol Hope you enjoy it ^^

There’s no better feeling than putting pen to paper (or more like fingers to keyboard if we’re being honest), and writing out the words clouding your head. The stories that beg to be born, made and unmade and remade again, with life, pain, love, happiness. The short ones that come out as a breath, written to be consumed fast, even as they stick in your mind for years to come. The longer ones that take over your life, over all your waking and sleeping moments, until it finally clicks into place (even if you then have to re-write it a million times until it’s readable).

Writing is Merlin’s bread and butter; not because it’s what brings him money, well, that too, but because it’s what makes him feel centered. Sharing with the world what goes inside his head, without actually talking about himself at all. Sharing with other people a hundred different worlds and characters and relationships. Sharing himself and being accepted, cared for, loved.

There’s no better feeling than to write, truly, but there’s no worse feeling than failing to do so.

To want to write but the words refusing to come out.

A jumble of useless, dumb, sentences with no substance, no heart.

_It hurts._

Not just mentally, no, but it physically hurts to be unable to write. Not even mentioning what it does to his self-esteem, how his self-deprecation takes a turn into “I’m the fucking worst” town. And it’s been months since he’s written anything (he hates it, hates it, fucking hates it).

He tries to force it. He sits down. He writes words. But nothing happens.

He changes places. He tries again. Nothing.

He goes outside. Feels the sun, the wind, the rain, sees other people, takes it all in. Still bloody nothing.

He actually does try with the pen and paper, trying to give it a different feeling. Ends up doodling instead and feeling like absolute shite. He gives up.

Although Merlin does get a new... _interest_ , of sorts. His _new_ neighbour, his new _pratty_ neighbour, his _hot_ pratty neighbour. It’s not his fault that he sometimes thinks with his dick, that the first thing he noticed about him was his arse snug in some wonderfully tight jeans. But then he opened his mouth, and the interest went from “I’d like to know you better” to “I’d love to keep your mouth shut, one way or another”.

Like right now.

“ _Mer_ lin, do you not have any other clothes? It’s absurd. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything else.” Arthur asks, looking him up and down slowly, holding the door open to their building for Merlin, who has his hands full of groceries.

“Why? Are you offering to buy me some?” Merlin jokes, letting his mouth run free like the idiot he is (why bother with pesky things, like a brain filter) “You know what they say, a man only buys you clothes so he can take them off you.”

Merlin hears a thud behind him as he climbs the stairs and looks over his shoulder, to see Arthur straightening up, as if he stumbled or something, “You ok mate?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine, Merlin. I’m not quite as clumsy as you are.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Merlin laughs. And yes, maybe he actually enjoys Arthur for more than his nice, fit body. He’s grown on him, like a fungus, _or_ \- he doesn’t know, Merlin just likes him is all. Their banter the best part of his miserable, unwritten days. He still wouldn’t mind kissing Arthur till the noises out of his mouth turned into moans and groans, instead of good natured insults.

Now at his door, he fumbles with his groceries, trying to get his key to open the door, and hears a long suffering sigh behind him.

“Let me.” Arthur says, as he pats Merlin’s pockets, way too close for comfort (Merlin kind of loves it, the warmth coming off Arthur’s hands, his breath on Merlin’s neck and oh boy, this is not good is it). Finally fishing them out, Arthur opens Merlin’s door, “You could have put the groceries on the floor you know? You’re a disaster.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, trying to keep his smile from showing too much, “Thank you Arthur, my very own knight in shining armour.”

“Well, I’ve always thought myself more of a prince, but that’s not too bad.” Arthur’s smug grin does nothing to Merlin (it doesn’t, really, it’s not hot just annoying - ok maybe it’s a little cute...what is wrong with him, bloody hell).

“Yeah, of course you did. Not a very shocking confession coming from you.”

_Are they flirting?_

It certainly _feels_ like they’re flirting.

At that realization, his heart starts pumping faster, his eyes falling from Arthur’s beautiful eyes to his soft lips, and how much he longs to touch them, to touch him and-

_Oh._

Going into his flat he drops his groceries in his counter quickly, walking back to the door and smiling openly at Arthur, “Sorry Arthur, you’ve just brought my inspiration back from the dead. Bless you, and your beautiful face. I gotta go, bye.” he closes the door on Arthur’s face before he can even respond - which is a little rude (a lot rude probably) but he needs to write before he can’t again. Arthur won’t mind much. They’re just neighbours.

_He writes_.

Fucking finally he writes like he hasn’t in months, and it isn’t perfect, and it might not even be _good_ , but it has heart and soul. It has feeling in it, emotion, and _something_ that has been missing for far too long.

Merlin doesn’t go out for a few days, just writing it all out, until his fingers hurt and his wrists ache, and his back is killing him and it feels so good. So, so, good. And maybe Arthur is his muse, because his thoughts drift to him far too often, which only makes him write more when he doesn’t get absolutely distracted by how filthy some of those thoughts turn out to be.

He feels alive. 

Happy.

And then there’s a knock on his door.

Getting up, he stretches his muscles, his bones popping into place, and goes to open it, “Arthur.” he says surprised. 

Arthur looks twitchy, unsure, but still drop dead gorgeous which is just unfair, because Merlin’s pretty sure he himself looks like a caveman at the moment.

“Can I come in?” Arthur finally says, exasperated, as if it’s Merlin’s failing to not have invited him in, in the first place. Maybe it is. He’s a little tired.

Cracking the door open even more, Merlin moves out of the way, “Of course.”

Arthur steps in, slowly, taking in Merlin’s dingy, very messy, flat. Closing the door Merlin leans on it, his eyes refusing to look away from Arthur. The silence is loud, almost deafening; Merlin doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, what’s supposed to happen, but his heart is threatening to burst out of his chest and fuck off, so he stops waiting for Arthur to speak, “What’s up?”

Fantastic. What a wonderful way to start a conversation. You can see how he’s a writer, he just has a way with words. _Idiot._

“You said I was beautiful.” turning around to face Merlin, Arthur blurts out, visibly wincing at his outburst. Probably didn’t mean to say that; at least Merlin’s not the only one with a hard time speaking around Arthur.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Merlin smiles, unable to stop himself. The words were said in the heat of the moment, but they weren’t any less true. Arthur is a beautiful man. Surprisingly, not just on the outside, even if he can be a bit of a prat, his heart is in the right place.

Arthur starts pacing back and forth, in front of Merlin, trying to find his words perhaps. His hands making a mess of his hair, as he keeps pushing it back, over and over again. It’s the first time he sees Arthur being like this, so _open_ with his feelings. No longer posturing or faking or pretending, no smugness, just _Arthur_. It’s a heady feeling, realizing he’s looking into Arthur’s soul unfolding in front of him, to see all the walls crumbling down.

Finally stopping a step away from Merlin, he whispers, “You confuse me. I never know what to do around you. It’s very frustrating.”

That actually manages to leave Merlin speechless, which never happens, ever. He may be unable to write at times, but he’s still able to talk until his throat is sore, about nothing and everything and anything. But not now. 

What-

Stepping in even closer, chest to chest, forehead to forehead (and Merlin almost forgets how to breathe, but he does and fuck, Arthur smells heavenly), Arthur speaks again, “Can I kiss you?”

His tongue still heavy in his mouth, all that Merlin can do is nod very enthusiastically; the laughter that comes out of Arthur at that does things to Merlin that shouldn’t be possible. 

Maybe he’s dying. 

Or dreaming. 

Or both. 

But then Arthur is cupping Merlin’s cheeks, getting closer still, and Merlin closes the rest of the distance. Although there are no fireworks, it feels like a soft breeze on a hot day, like water running down your parched throat, not just something you want, but something you need. And Merlin needs Arthur, needs his lips on Arthur’s until he can’t think straight.

A thousand words explode inside his head, stories, and poems, and quotes, mixing together in a mess of want, love, need. Merlin doesn’t rush out to write them down though, not this time. He stays in Arthur’s arms, kissing his lips, his throat, everywhere he can reach, touch. And if the words eventually do disappear, he doesn’t mind, he knows as long as he’s with Arthur, something else will come along. After all, he’s apparently Merlin’s muse now, and he’s not complaining.

“I like you.” Merlin confesses when they part for air, just resting against each other, never letting go.

Merlin can feel Arthur smile against his neck as he gives his own confession, “I liked you first. Even if you seemed a bit dim at first-”

For the first time, Merlin can actually shut him up just the way he’s been wanting for a while now, and it’s even better than he ever thought possible.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also kickassfu on tumblr~~


End file.
